


to see if i still bleed

by WanderingCreep



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Injury Recovery, JUST KISS ALREADY, M/M, Masochists in Love, WrestleMania
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-04 10:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10274495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingCreep/pseuds/WanderingCreep
Summary: roman has it seriously bad for a monster.seth is seriously crazy for revenge.they're both hurting for the masochism tango.set after the raw 2/27/17 interview with seth and corey graves.





	1. the masochism tango

to see if i still bleed

 

 

There are certain things you don’t do at work.

You don’t date other coworkers.

You don’t sleep on the job.

You don’t call your boss by his first name.

You definitely don’t threaten him either.

“ _Hunter_!”

Seth’s voice, amplified by the microphone gripped with white knuckles in his hands, echoes through the depths of the backstage loud and clear. It’s reminiscent of a thunderclap, the rage before a summer storm really hits. It sounds like the old Seth, the one that maybe, three years ago, Roman would’ve admired for his stubborn independence. The one that didn’t take no for an answer and would never let himself be used for someone else’s gain. The one that demanded attention.

That Seth was the one that had Roman’s, and everyone else’s attention right now, even after he’s vacated the ring. No one is going to forget this.

Not that Roman could ever forget Seth. Even after he’d stabbed him in the back in front of the world, as much as he’d wanted and tried his hardest to, he’d never been able to let him go. Not really. Part of him knew, deep down, that he never would, no matter what.

That was an inconvenience, yeah, but at the same time, Roman is kind of glad that he was never able to let go of Seth. Because now, as he turns the corner and sees him at the end of the hall, he doesn’t really feel all that bad about the swell of _happyproudworrylove_ that rises in his chest.

Seth’s head snaps up the moment he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Samoa Joe’s really done a number on him, but it’s not like Seth has been the most popular guy in the locker room for the past four years anyway. It’s probably routine now, especially with his bum knee being an obvious target.

Seth had been making his way down the hall, one hand on his crutch, the other palming the wall, though when he saw Roman, he stopped dead in his tracks. His shoulders relaxed, but only slightly, and for a moment, he took his eyes off of Roman to direct his gaze at the floor.

“Hey,” he says, sounding tired and low, completely opposite of the growling, angry avenging angel that had been in the ring not too long ago.

“Hey,” replies Roman. “Some show.”

Seth snorts softly, a grin stretching across his face. “I’ll fucking say.”

The crutch trembles –has been trembling- and Seth leans heavily on the wall with a grunt. Roman crosses the short distance between them, reaching out to steady him and help him down when it looks like he’s going to huddle on the floor instead. “Hey,” Roman says, surprised at how gentle his own voice is, “you good? Need to call a trainer?”

Seth shakes his head. “I’m okay. Just…need to rest my knee.”

Roman nods, standing there feeling awkward, eventually opting to just take a seat on the floor next to Seth. He at least remembers to keep an acceptable amount of space between them, but somehow he can still feel Seth shaking.

“What’s going on?”

Seth looks at him. “Huh?”

“You’re…uh, you’re shaking.”

Seth’s eyes widen slightly and he immediately looks at the ground, looking sheepish. “Oh.” He bends his knee, the good one, up to his chest, stretches out the bad one further to find some comfort. “Adrenaline, I think.” He laughs softly. “I’ll be honest, my heart was beating a mile a minute out there. I’m not scared,” he adds sharply, like he’s betting on Roman insinuating a fear of Triple H following through on his threat, “more like…excited? Like, this is it. This is _it._ I’m about to go head-to-head with biggest name in the industry. This is what I’ve been dreaming of since I was, like, six years old. I’ve done a lot of shit to get here, but…I made it.”

Seth nods once, twice, like he’s trying to reassure himself. “I’m gonna make it count.”

Roman eyes him slowly, carefully. He knows better than anyone how shitty some of the things Seth has done are. He’d been involved in most of them. But still, no one could deny that despite the road Seth took to get to where he was had been less than humble and honest, he’d worked damn hard to be there. He was going to make it count, he said.

“I know you will,” he says.

Seth looks up at him like he wasn’t expecting Roman to come out and tell him that in some degree, he had his back in this. He blinked, once, twice, and then nodded.

Then they settled into silence, Seth leaning his head back against the wall with his eyes closed, and Roman sitting next to him listening to Seth calm his breathing. Eventually, he stops shaking, and just looks exhausted. Roman remembered an injury of his own back in FCW, remembered how tired he always felt when he was doing anything but resting. Seth had come out and basically sealed his own fate in nerve-wracking fashion on a previously injured knee –Roman was willing to bet he was beyond tired.

“You should go home,” he tells him.

“I will.”

“And rest.”

“Yeah.

“On the couch. Not in a gym.”

Seth laughs softly. “You know, out of all the things I miss from back then, your mothering isn’t one of them.”

His eyes are still closed; Roman can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Roman finds himself struggling to find words suddenly, like what he wants to ask has become lodged in his throat. Deep down, he knows why; he’s scared of what he’ll hear, the answers he’ll get if he does ask. Seth’s never been shy about cutting off pieces of anyone ever. For everything that was good about him, his ability to tear you down with some well-placed words was the worst in him.

“Did you mean it? What you said out there?”

Seth sighs out, long and deep, like the question itself tires him out and the answer bores him.

“I know what you want to hear,” he says softly. “And yeah, I meant it. I meant all of it. I do wonder if this,” he gestures lazily in the direction of his injured knee, “is what I deserve for everything I’ve done. Like really bad karma, you know? Everything damnable thing I’ve ever done just coming back full force. I wonder if everything I’ve done was worth it. I don’t like what I’ve done, but it’s too late now. Too late for realizations. But…”

Seth’s eyes flicker open then, half-lidded and blinking tiredly at the wall across of him.

“But I still don’t like what I’ve become.”

Roman can feel relief simmering warmly in his chest; that was all he ever wanted from Seth, an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of what he once had, acknowledgement of what he’d become. An acknowledgement of the truth.

And now here it was and it feels…rather hollow.

He’d only ever wanted Seth to tell him the truth. He hadn’t wanted it to take a career-threatening injury to pry the words out of him. It was bittersweet.

Seth sighs again, only this one sounds more relaxed than tired. “That was cathartic,” he says. “Feels good to get that off my chest. Not stellar, but I don’t quite feel like death warmed over anymore.”

“How long have you been mulling that over?”

Seth blinks thoughtfully. “Probably since the brand split. Maybe a little after the stint with Balor and the Universal title. Started realizing that it’s kind of stupid to trust a guy who was buddies with the dirtiest player in the game. When he Pedigreed me during the match with Owens, that kinda sealed it: Triple H was no different than when he turned on Shawn Michaels years and years ago. Any guy who turns on his own best friend is not the kind of guy you want to trust.”

“Learn from the best, huh?” Roman didn’t mean to say that out loud, but something about slipping in a low blow long overdue feels sort of good. To his credit, Seth doesn’t even wince.

“You’re right,” he says easily. “I was kind of a dick. But let’s be clear, this is not me trying to become a good person. I’m not trying to atone for anything. I know the kind of guy that I am, and I can’t be anything that I’m not.”

A small part of Roman knows that Seth isn’t a good person, never will be. Doesn’t mean it stings less when he hears it said out loud. “Then what are you trying to do?”

Seth’s eyes harden for a moment. “Simple. Get revenge.”

Roman glances at him. “I don’t think anyone’s ever really as good a person as you think.”

“Some people can rise above their base instincts,” Seth explains placidly. “They can be selfless. Y’know, turn the other cheek, be the better man, all that sentimental fortune cookie bullshit. The rest of us just manage. Sometimes it’s better that way.”

“And other times?”

“Other times….” Seth sighs. “It sucks.”

“Do you want to be better?”

“In this line of work?” Seth shakes his head. “That’s suicide. Show any sign of weakness and they’ll walk all over you. But sometimes I think, maybe it would be nice.”

Roman glances at him. “Being the better man isn’t weakness.”

Seth shrugs, continues not to meet Roman’s gaze. “It is if you find yourself fighting a snake.”

“Kill them before they kill you?”

“Lightning always strikes twice. I won’t let him strike me again.”

“Some people would call that paranoia,” says Roman.

“Maybe so. Those people don’t live long enough to tell the story though.”

Roman snorts, shaking his head. “And here I thought Ambrose was the only crazy one here.”

Seth grins. “We jump off of Titantrons for a living, Rome. We’re all a little crazy.”

Roman agrees, but not only because he beats people bloody for a living; he’d have to be crazy to still be this fond of a man who jut admitted to him that he didn’t think it was worth it to be the better man. He was always going to be a liar and a cheat and a cutthroat. Roman shouldn’t be okay with that.

But somehow, it’s all he’s known coming from Seth. In a weird way, Seth has always been like this, it’s just that Roman had been watching from the sidelines. He’d never had it turned on _him_.

“So what are you now?” asks Roman.

Seth pauses, frozen in place as though he’s debating whether or not to answer. He turns slowly to face Roman, and when their eyes meet, Roman knows Seth already knows what’s coming. “What am I?”

“You said you don’t like what you’ve become. What are you now?”

Seth blinks, then smiles softly. He shakes his head. “Same thing I’ve always been.”

Seth has always intrigued Roman. Everything about him was a puzzle, the way he thought, the way he spoke, the way he moved. It was all calculated, all concealed, like a cloak and dagger operation that never stopped. Like Seth had to keep changing identities, crafting some sort of idea of himself in order to please others, make them trust him, depend on him for stability, friendship. Then, once he had you, once he was finished with you, he cut you off; like severing an artery.

A real assassin.

Or, at least, that’s what Roman thought. He was pretty sure that lots of people who’d come in contact with Seth Rollins probably shared the same idea. He was the worst kind of person, someone who knew how to look into your head and turn you inside out with his eyes and words. Roman had never been quite sure how Seth really saw himself; a liar? A thief? God’s last gift? But now he knew. He suspects he always knew, but had never truly believed that someone like Seth could ever be capable of it.

“And what would that be?” he asks.

It makes perfect sense. Seth blinks, like he knows that Roman is already privy to the answer. He’s half-right.

“A monster.”

 


	2. two step with lucifer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably rename this fic 'two idiots with issues sit in hallways and talk about existential bullshit for an hour', since that's all they appear to be doing at the moment.

two step with lucifer

 

 

Roman wakes up with a killer headache.

It’s not the kind of headache that comes with a hangover; those are a bittersweet ache at best, throbbing, yet sweetened with the memories of the night before and the lingering warmth of alcohol in your chest and the fading imprint of someone’s lips against yours.

This was more like being hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat.

Roman blinks his eyes open only to immediately shut them against the light sending pinpricks of pain through the back of his skull. He briefly registers the familiar feeling of a plastic cot underneath him, smells the sterile scent of rubbing alcohol and sanitary wipes. Someone is talking, though he can’t really understand what they’re saying, sounds scientific and goes over his head completely.

Trainers.

Oh, right. He’d hit his head earlier.

Well, to be more specific, Braun Strowman had come barreling out of nowhere and sent him crashing into the web of metal bars and bracers between the ramp and the barricade. He remembered waking up after the fact to the sound of people chanting Shawn Michael’s name, looking up at the ceiling, the lights, the faces of the trainers.

Now, he’s sore in more places than one and he’s more than a little pissed.

He’s been shown up by two people now, not counting that giant bastard Strowman, and both of those people constituted as legends even by the legends before them. Granted, Roman had brought it upon himself both times, running his mouth, but damn it, he was tired of people looking down on him. He’d be damned if Shawn _fucking_ Michaels of all people told him that he had no chance of beating the Undertaker.

Roman sighs, heavy and angry, and glares up at the ceiling. _Goddamn it._

How long was he out anyway?

He must’ve made his way back to the trainers; he vaguely remembers watching himself put one foot in front of the other. And if they were letting him doze off like this then it must not have been too bad a head injury. Not a concussion, at least. Still hurt like a bitch though.

His back is killing him, right in between his shoulder blades where he’d landed wrong on the bracers. He runs his hand over his face, shutting his eyes tight against the ringing in his ears. Were the trainers really sure that he didn’t have a concussion?

He’s about to flag one down and ask when the ringing begins to change from white noise to actual words. Chanting, over and over again. Its people, people further away in the arena.

Immediately, Roman sits straight up, ears pricked for the word being screamed throughout the depths of the arena. When it clicks, he realizes how lost he is.

Since when was _he_ here? What was happening?

The trainers start talking again, like birds chirping madly in the trees, and they all sound like they’re actually talking to someone, pleading. It carries on, getting louder as the flock of medics herd towards the office. Someone’s voice rings out over all of them, and Roman has never felt his stomach drop as quickly as it does now.

“I’m fine! I’ve done this a couple of times!”

“Okay, but I don’t want you to make it worse…”

From the sounds of it, Seth isn’t being a very cooperative patient. Not like he ever was; Roman remembers having to force him to take it easy with a concussion, giving him death glares whenever he tried to get up and do anything other than rest.

The voices move on past the office, meaning Seth has managed to drag the trainers down the hall kicking and screaming with no intention of getting his knee checked out. Something in the back of Roman’s mind tells him to get up and go after him, maybe its that unshakeable attraction to his former teammate. Maybe its curiosity.

He leaves the cot and pokes his head out of the office just in time to see the herd of trainers halting at the end of the hall as Seth disappears around the corner. One of them turns when he walks up behind them giving him a helpless look.

“How did you put up with him? He’s so stubborn.”

Roman grins and shrugs. It was kind of hard to explain that Seth’s hardheadedness was endearing, at least to Roman himself. Other times, it was the most infuriating fucking thing, but it was a lot better than his wrath.

“I’ll bring him,” he says.

Seth is leaning on the wall in the next hallway over, shoulders tense, eyes shut tight. Roman’ll hand it to him: he certainly got around pretty quick for a guy with one leg in the gutter.

“Hey, Rollins.”

Seth blinks his eyes open at the sound of his name and turns them in Roman’s direction. He watches him cross the short distance between them, probably weighing his options –fight or flight, mostly- then just sighs, thumping his head against the wall.

“What,” he grumbles, sounding equal parts annoyed and petulant.

Roman grins. “You know you shouldn’t piss of the medics. They’ll stick a needle in you and you won't even know what hit you.”

Seth’s eyes screw tight, his face contorting in pain, and suddenly he’s falling. Roman is by his side in a flash, one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching out to give Seth something to steady himself with. “Dude, what happened? What’s wrong with you?”

Sweat is beading along Seth’s forehead. Roman can feel the perspiration through the back of his shirt as he helps him to the floor, can feel the tremors in his taut muscles.

“I’m okay,” he grits out through clenched teeth, “ _I’m fine_ ,” and Roman wants to roll his eyes so hard that they roll out of his skull and down the hall.

“You’re _not_ _fine_ ,” he hisses. “You can barely stand and you’re too goddamn stubborn to let anyone help you.”

Seth huffs out a noise that sounds vaguely like laughter. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate to worry about as it is. I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with worse.”

Roman glares at him. Obviously his knee was hurting him, but this was worse than the last time he’d seen him. The pain was almost unbearable, if the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes were anything to go by.

“Did Joe attack you?” he asks. He hadn’t even known Seth was there in the building tonight; he had been knocked out with a head injury when whatever had happened to Seth occurred.

“Nah,” says Seth simply and goes quiet. He focuses on taking tight breaths in and out, trying to distract himself from his knee. He valiantly keeps up the silence and feigned ignorance for an impressive few minutes before he probably feels the annoyance hanging off of Roman in drapes and confesses, “It was Hunter.”

Roman’s already opening his mouth to tell Seth how crazy he is when Seth cuts him off rudely, “They were gonna fire Mick, Roman. I had to do something.”

Roman shakes his head. “You’re insane. Hunter’s got a price on your head, Seth. Why do you antagonize him like that? Jesus _Christ_!” He runs his fingers through his hair angrily, trying to bite back a wince when he brushes over a bruise. “It’s like you want him to break your leg in half. You’ve always been like this; why can’t you look out for your own? Do you even know what self-preservation is?”

“Do you?” snaps Seth. “You’ve got no room to talk. I’m not the one who called out the Undertaker twice. If I remember correctly, he laid your ass out in the middle of the ring a week ago, but for some reason, you still wanna take a piss on his front lawn. And you wanna talk to me about _self-preservation_? Are you fucking serious?”

Roman narrows his eyes, already feeling the heat of annoyance warming in his chest. Seth wasn’t the only stubborn one.

“I’m not the one with a handicap,” he retorts. “You can hardly walk, let alone fight.”

“I saw what Strowman did to you earlier,” says Seth with a sour grin. “After a stunt like that, I’d say you’re no better.”

“Can you stop trying to one-up for once?” sighs Roman. _Let me be worried about you for once?_ “I’m trying to make sure you make it to Wrestlemania this year. But you’re making it really hard to make that happen. Just go home and stop handling other people’s business. You were never this selfless when-“

_When you were a backstabbing traitor._

Seth looks at the floor, can probably hear what Roman was going to say in his head. There was no way he didn’t know what he was thinking now. Considering the status of their healing relationship, neither of them really wanted to bring that up now.

Seth smiles softly then, shaking his head. “I know. Guess we’re both hurting for the masochism tango, huh?”

Roman glances at him, then closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. “I know I can beat him. If it hurts along the way, big deal. I’ve handled worse.”

“Don’t you think that’s the way I feel?” says Seth. “You’re not the only one who’s dead set on slaying their demons. No pun intended.”

“You’re the one going in with a target on your back,” grumbles Roman.

“I’m not weak,” says Seth, obviously annoyed with how Roman keeps pointing out his injury. “I’ve got this. I can handle myself. And anyway, what about you? Why are you so determined on coming to blows with the Undertaker? What’d he do to piss you off?”

Roman shrugs. “He got in my way. I took offense to that.”

“Pride is a sin, Roman.”

“You’re no angel yourself, princess.”

“Fair enough. You should watch your back though. Strowman is no joke. You don’t want him and the Deadman on your hide at the same time; it’ll be a bloodbath.”

Roman rolls his head towards Seth. “What? No faith in me?”

“I’ll wait and see where this goes. You were always full of surprises.” And was it just Roman, or did Seth actually sound…fond? Seth does a complete 180 then, outright punching Roman in the shoulder with as much venom as he can muster.

“What the hell were you thinking, disrespecting Shawn fucking Michaels of all people? You have no shame, do you? God, I could strangle you!”

Roman shies away, grabbing his shoulder where Seth had punched him to shield from another blow sure to come. “I’m not taking advice from an old geezer who got retired by the same guy I’m fighting. That’s called the blind leading the blind.”

Seth punched him again, looking genuinely pissed at this point. Fair enough, the man did look up to Shawn Michaels like he was the lord and savior himself.

“I hope Taker whoops your ass at Wrestlemania,” he hisses.

Roman presses a hand to his chest in mock pain. “You wound me,” he says dripping sarcasm. “And I know that wasn’t the reason you went out there tonight. Not the whole reason, at least. I remember how you are, Seth. You wouldn’t do something unless you had something to gain from it. You’ve got the most respect for legends than anyone I know; but even you wouldn’t risk yourself for them. What happened? ”

It’s a bitter subject that quietly ushers the warmth out the previous conversation. It’s back to business now, and neither of them really enjoy it. A part of Roman wonders why he even brought it up. The other part resigns itself to figuring out the monster called Seth, even if what he found hurt. He supposes Seth was right; maybe they were both hurting for the masochism tango.

Seth sighs, bumping his head back softly against the wall. Roman lets him collect his words, he’s already far too invested in what the next thing that comes out of his mouth will be.

“I wanted to show Triple H that I wasn’t going anywhere. That I was still here and that I was still gonna kick his ass six ways to Sunday, y’know?” Seth shakes his head. “And not just him: all the people who doubted me. Who are still doubting me. This is what I’ve wanted my whole life, what I’ve spent so many years working towards. I don’t want it to fall apart because of some stupid knee injury. I don’t want to be forgotten.”

Roman watches him quietly. He knows that wrestling is everything to Seth; this guy ate, slept, _breathed_ wrestling.

To him, it was the world.

Roman squashes down the pang of jealousy he feels then, and says, “No one’s going to forget you.”

Seth breathes in, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’ve done so much, y’know. So much to get here. If it all goes to shit…” He trails off, goes quiet.

“Some part of me wants this too, in some sick way. Did you know that?” he says with a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve felt so numb since my injury, trapped in some kind of purgatory. Like part of me has already given up on ever being good, being relevant again. So when I came back, I dove headfirst into a total shitstorm.”

Seth laughs under his breath, still talking to the ceiling. “It was okay, I guess. It hurt, yeah, but I wasn’t numb anymore. I was making it work. I was getting back on track.” He shook his head. “But that’s just how it is. Sometimes you have to hurt yourself, just to see.”

Roman didn’t recognize his own voice. “See what?”

Seth brought his hand up to his teeth, gnawing on the calloused pad of his thumb, as if to punctuate his point.

“To see if I still bleed.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title drop at the end blatantly stolen from johnny cash's 'hurt'.


	3. numb the pain like novocaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my own crippling loneliness forced this chapter out of me. also, im sorry for the wait. i had college bullshit and shenanigans to take care of.  
> i wish i had summer romance :(

numb the pain like novocaine

 

 

“You, my friend,” says Dean, voice tinny in Roman’s ear, “are one crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

Roman grins, though Dean’s unable to see it, and pulls on his right boot. “Thanks, I think? Means a lot coming from a certified psychopath. I’m guessing you saw Monday’s episode?”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to call out the Undertaker,” said Dean. There’s a muffled rustling in the background, and vaguely, Roman wonders if Dean is sprawled out on the hotel bed, beer in one hand, pizza in the other, phone on speaker and lying on the pillow next to his head. “And I know Rollins probably had an aneurysm when you gave Michaels the finger.”

“He did.”

“Was it funny at least? Bet it was. Gotta be honest, I’m tired of seeing this depressed, revenge-crazy version. Anything that gets a rise outta him is better, just I wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

“Yeah,” says Roman wistfully, pulling on the other boot. “Maybe you should come down and mess with him sometime. Get his mind off the knee.”

“Sounds like fun,” says Dean sounding way too devilish over the thought of trying to roust Seth from the rut he was in. That was probably a bad idea on Roman’s part. Then again, that seemed to be the story of his life as of late.

“You think he’s gonna show up?” drawls Dean, snapping Roman back to attention.

“What? Who?”

He can practically hear Dean rolling his eyes on the other line. “Rollins, dum-dum. I imagine he’s got a death wish. Or at least a score to settle with Trips, wants to make this happen.”

Roman shrugs. “We both know he will. He’s always been stubborn like a mule.”

“Like you aren’t?” says Dean, laughing. “This coming from the crazed fucker who continues to poke the bear.”

“You’ve got no room to talk, you hypocrite. How’s Corbin treating you?”

“Fuck you,” Dean says, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Fucker almost crushed me with a fork lift, least you could do is pretend you’re worried about me.”

Roman snorts. “We both know you can’t be killed by something as trivial as a fork lift,” he says, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear while he laces up his boots, “and every time I worry about you, you punch me in the neck and tell me to stop mothering you. Look, I gotta go –show’s starting, I got things to do, people to talk to, you know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, and Roman can almost see him flapping his hand in disinterest. “I got it. Oh, and before you go, tell that dumb kid to be careful. We both know he’s the smartest idiot in the world and he just loves to get into trouble.”

“I’ll send him your love,” Roman chuckles over the sound of Dean grunting in annoyance.

Roman hangs up, smiling softly to himself as he finishes lacing up his boot. It hadn’t been until the brand split that he realized how much he missed having Dean around. And it wasn’t until Seth started…whatever this was, that he realized he was totally whipped.

The guy had singlehandedly caused both of his former closest friends four years of agony and heartache and for some reason, that wasn’t enough to make Roman hate him like he’s desperately wanted to. Not like he could ever really hate him –you didn’t just fall out of a seven years long love with someone just like _that_. Not after all they’d been through, from FCW to winning the tag team titles as the Shield –Roman didn’t think he’d ever be able to really hate him.

Sure, he’d wanted to punch him in the face once or twice, but he’d never hated him.

That was probably why he was trying to convince him to watch out for his knee, instead of running headfirst into the jaws of a monster that would end his career. But Seth was stubborn like that. It was one of the things Roman had loved about him.

He could probably come up with a list of things he’d loved about that fucker. But now wasn’t the time; Seth worked quickly. Roman would need to be faster if he was going to stop him from doing something incredibly dumb.

 

“I’m gonna need you to not do something stupid tonight.”

Seth looked up with a grin, looking not at all sheepish or apologetic. Of course he’d been caught in the act by one of the people who knew him best.

“Seriously,” says Roman, leaning back against the doorframe, “I’ve got enough gray hairs worrying about with Wrestlemania coming up. I don’t need you going out there making the biggest mistake of your life.”

Seth shakes his head, goes back to stretching out his knee. He’s not dressed for a fight, but he might as well have been. There was no way he was going to walk out of this arena without a few punches being pulled. The only question was who was going to be throwing those punches.

 “You’re one to talk. I know you’re gonna go out there and call out Taker again.”

“I’m serious,” says Roman. “Everyone and their blind grandmother knows that it’s a trap. If you go out there, if you cross Triple H because I know you will,” he fixes Seth with an accusatory glare that earns him a ‘fair enough’ type of shrug from Seth, “you know he’ll try to take you out before Mania. He’ll try to make sure you don’t make it to Sunday. Hell, he won’t even want you to make it to the ring-“

“I know,” interrupts Seth. “I know. You forget, he was my mentor for four years; I know how he works. But, you know, that’s one of his biggest flaws. He’s got nothing else to show me that I haven’t seen already. I’m younger, I’m still faster even with a bum knee. Hell, I’m probably smarter too. I can find a way around everything he can throw at me because I’ve seen it already.”

Roman shakes his head. Okay, so he did love how headstrong and stubborn Seth was, but it was a completely different story when he was the one who had to deal with it. it was admirable really, but infuriating nonetheless.

“You’re still just as arrogant as ever,” he sighs.

“Like you’re any better,” snorted Seth. “You should know by now that I’m not gonna change my mind about this. If I say I’m gonna do something, then I’m gonna do it, so just drop it.”

“That’s exactly why I’m trying to talk you out of this whole fucking thing! You’re always so goddamn stubborn that you don’t even think properly. This is your career at stake, Seth. This is everything you worked your whole life for, and you’re gonna throw it away just because you can’t swallow your own damned pride?”

Seth glares daggers at him, and maybe if Roman didn’t know he was right, maybe he would’ve been the slightest bit intimidated.

“I don’t care if you don’t like it,” he says. “But you know I’m right. You might have done some shitty things in the last few years, but you don’t deserve to lose what you’ve worked your entire life for. And If I have to knock you out to keep you from making a huge mistake, I will, because I refuse to sit here and watch you kill yourself over this.”

Awkwardly, a cold silence settles over the empty locker room, and Roman already knows he’s said too much. Seth is looking at him with something akin to watery annoyance that tides over into confusion, like he’s just realized what Roman said. “Why are you fighting me so hard on this?” he asks softly. “Like, I know we’re on better terms than we were before, but…you haven’t argued with me this much since the time I wanted to jump off the Titantron.”

He laughs humorlessly. “I thought you of all people would love to see me get smacked around a couple of times.” It’s meant as a joke, but it’s said with too much sincerity for it to be even remotely funny.

Roman exhales. No coming back from this then.

“Look,” he says, “I’ve got my licks in. I’m over it. But just because you did some really shitty things in the past doesn’t mean that I want to watch you tear yourself down in the name of redemption. I never wanted that.”

Seth blinks up at him once, twice, and Roman thinks he might’ve struck a chord within his psyche. But then Seth shakes his head.

“Yeah, well. It’s not about what you want,” he says quietly. “It’s about what needs to be done. And I need to do this, whether you’re with me or not.”

 

 

“You told him all that, but you didn’t tell him you were whipped?” shouts Dean.

Roman has to pull the phone away from his ear so he doesn’t go deaf and scowls in its general direction. “Stop shouting. And I’m not whipped, Ambrose, fuck you.”

“Dude,” Ambrose laughs, “you are so whipped. He’s got you by the balls and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Anyway,” says Roman loudly, trying his best to change the subject. “He’s on next. Trips is gonna tear him apart, man. I tried to tell him but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Ooh, big shocker,” deadpans Ambrose. “He doesn’t listen to anyone. Never has. He’ll do whatever he wants, we both know that. You should’ve just told him why you really didn’t want him to go out there. Like, ‘ _Seth! Don’t do this! I love you!’_ ”

Roman glares at the ceiling, hoping that Dean can feel the annoyance and general disgust rolling off of him in waves through the phone. “That’s not what I sound like, fuck you kindly, and you’re a dick.”

In response, Ambrose makes the most obscene slurping noises Roman has ever heard over the phone, and he considers hanging up right then and there.

“You disgust me.”

“Shut up, the commercial break’s over,” interrupts Dean. He’s watching Monday night Raw in his hotel room, had called Roman just before Triple H had been due to initiate the contract signing. “Are you seeing this?”

Roman looks up at the monitor in the screening room. Triple H has come out with all of his pompous, grandiose glory. “Yeah,” grimaces Roman. “I’m seeing this.”

“You gonna go out there and stop him?”

“Hell no. You know Seth would rather die than let anyone save him.”

“He’s gonna get hurt,” says Dean. He says it in that way that doesn’t sound like much, like he doesn’t care, but Roman knows better. He knows Dean has only ever cared too much about anything and everything. Seth is one of those things, no matter how much he denied it.

“I know, but I can’t stop him,” says Roman, sounding occupied. Triple H is onscreen running his mouth as usual, taunting Seth and goading him into coming out. And when Seth’s music hits, Roman inwardly cringes, wishes he’d been more adamant about Seth not going out there. It would’ve been useless, of course. Seth was the most stubborn creature he’d ever known; he’d have better luck pushing a mountain across the ground. No amount of threatening or begging would ever change Seth’s mind, but damn it, did Roman want to punch him in his stubborn, beautiful face.

Seth limps out, and Roman actually kind of forgot that he was still on the phone with Dean until he pipes up, “I’ll be honest, I’d kinda been waiting on this matchup since the breakup.”

That surprises Roman, genuinely surprises him to hear that come from Dean Ambrose of all people. “Really?”

“Rollins may not look it, but he’s never been one for following orders either. He’s not as dirty and ragged as some other rebellious delinquents I know, but he’s got about as much attitude as one. It was only a matter of time before he turned that attitude on Hunter,” explains Dean. He pauses then, probably thinking.

“He used him until he had nothing left to offer, then decided to cut him loose.” Ambrose sounds noticeably blanker when he says this. Of course, he would understand how Seth works; he’d been on the receiving end of it too.

“If you haven’t noticed, it looks like that didn’t work too well,” says Roman with a grimace –Triple H had basically reduced Seth to a rabbit trying to catch the carrot he was dangling on a stick; that had to burn the kid up something awful. “Sure looks like the other way around as far as Triple H is concerned.”

“Seems that way,” says Dean. “But Seth’s never been the kinda guy to lose control. Even if it looks one way, he’s always got it going another way. Usually his way. Triple H has no idea what’s coming.”

“You think he’ll win?”

Dean is quiet.

“I didn’t say that,” he says after a while. “It’s just whatever happens, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Dean couldn’t be more right, because that’s when Seth starts talking onscreen. He says, “I liked myself before I met you,” and even though the camera is trained on him, he’s looking Hunter dead in the eye. He can’t help but feel like he was meant to hear this, like Seth’s attention is focused on a select group of people, Roman included.

What comes next isn’t pretty.

Seth goes on to say what Roman’s been hoping, dreaming of hearing, but it isn’t as relieving or even enjoyable as he once thought it would be. To hear Seth basically say that he regrets everything he’s done up to this point –turning his back on Roman and Dean, selling his soul to become the equivalent of Triple H and Stephanie McMahon’s whipping boy- is all Roman had ever wanted to hear from him.

(save for three little words that Roman himself couldn’t even tell him)

But now, he doesn’t really know what to do with them, and all he wants is to drill it into Seth’s head that he doesn’t have to wage this losing battle to atone for what he’s done. Not for Roman, not for Seth –just coming clean like that in front of millions of people was enough, Seth swallowing his pride was enough.

But if the first few times he’d shouted it at Seth hadn’t changed his mind at all, one more time wasn’t going to either.

Seth signs his name on the contract.

Now there’s no way Roman’s gonna talk him out of this.

And when he’s done, Triple H flips the table and goes after Seth, and Roman almost forgets that he’s still holding his phone, that Dean is still on the line, and so he says, “I’m gonna kill him,” in way of goodbye, and Dean replies, laughing, “Get a lick in for me too,” never one to pass up a fight.

Roman watches as Seth fights back, favoring his knee in obvious pain, and his nerves are no more soothed when he wins the scuffle than when it started.

He leaves the monitor room.

He needs to get his shit together and his being constantly annoyed by Seth’s stubbornness isn’t helping. Still, he finds himself pacing up and down the hallway, debating on whether or not to try and knock some sense into Seth, even now that he’s signed the contract and legally can’t back out of the match.

He realizes he’s fighting a losing battle almost as much as he’s sure Seth will come Wrestlemania, but he can’t find it in himself. He just can’t let Seth kill his career over this. It all comes down to it being the very thing that made Seth who he was: his enthusiasm, his creativity, his passion. All of it came down to his career as a wrestler. It was the basis on which that passion thrived, and without it, what would happen to Seth?

It was sort of selfish on Roman’s part, his adamancy on Seth not fighting Triple H. If something happened and Seth lost, lost the match, lost his knee, lost his career, would he crumble? Would he be the same person anymore? It was selfish, because Roman didn’t want to lose Seth. Not the creature that he’d become while being Triple H’s protégé. He said that he’d always been that person, and Roman had just never noticed until he’d had the full attention of the monster, but Roman had since stopped believing that. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was more than the cold, cunning nature of a natural born killer that rested inside Seth.

There was the deep conversations that Seth struck up at two o’clock in the morning when he was supposed to be sleeping, keeping Roman awake past the point of no return. There was the unbelievable nerdiness that came with playing video games and watching Game of Thrones and explaining the Horcrux theories of the Harry Potter world, Seth endearingly serious and concentrated when trying to make Roman understand the importance of it all. There was compassion for his dogs and the brutal honesty, telling you what you needed to hear even if it wasn’t nice.

There was so much more than the monster.

But if there was no wrestling, the brunt of Seth’s livelihood, would there be anything left of that?

Call it self-service, but Roman couldn’t stand to lose that Seth. He refused to be left with a monster, bitter and cold and everything that Triple H had made him.

Roman doesn’t even have to turn around to know who’s walking down the hallway now. A moment later, he hears his name.

“Roman?”

Seth is looking at him curiously, like he’s surprised to see Roman on the verge of tearing his hair out.

“What’s wrong? You look…stir-crazy.”

Roman looks at him, then grins and shakes his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He hears Seth laugh too, though it sounds more like a sigh. “I’m guessing you watched that last segment then?”

“Yeah. Dean sends his regards; says if you lose, he’ll beat you up.” Roman shakes his head again. “Might go for me too, after all this trouble you put me through.”

Seth smiles. “Like Dean ever needed a reason to beat someone up. You worry too much, big guy.” Seth stops in front of him. “I’ll be fine.”

“I worry because I care.”

Seth blinks, looks surprised at Roman’s out loud admission of him actually caring about what happened to him even after all the ruthless things Seth had done. He looks away and murmurs, “Yeah, well. Thanks. But you shouldn’t care so much. I’m a bad bet.”

Roman shrugs. “Never been much of a gambling man.”

Seth glares at him for all of two seconds before he’s smiling besides himself. Roman only realizes now how close they are. “You never could beat Dean at poker. That much I remember.”

“You really should be careful,” says Roman, keeping his voice down. They don’t need to be loud; they’re practically right on each other. Seth seems to notice. He takes a step back.

“I will be. Stop worrying.”

“Can’t. Won’t.” May as well go all in on this, Roman’s already made things obvious.

Seth takes another step back, almost straight into the wall. “You,” he says, voice low enough that only he and Roman can hear, “are fighting awfully hard for someone who will never be up to your standards. I’ve already disappointed you once.”

“That’s true, and I doubt that’ll be the last time I get disappointed.”

“Then why fight so hard?”

Seth has to know the answer to that question; he’s not stupid, and he’s nothing if not perceptive. He just wants to hear Roman say it. He never could make things easy.

“God, I hate you,” but Roman’s smiling anyway. He lifts his hand, wraps it around Seth’s hip, inadvertently pushing him the last few inches against the wall.

Seth’s smiling too, smaller, quieter. “Lies.”

Obviously.

Roman’s close enough to kiss him, holy shit, he’s close enough to actually kiss him. Everything feels like it’s happening very slowly, and its driving him up the wall, and Seth hasn’t pushed him away yet, so that must mean something right?

He moves in the rest of the way, so close he can feel Seth breathing, but…

But he can’t kiss him.

Literally, he can’t. Seth turns his head at the last minute, without so much as a gentle brush of the lips, and reaches up, bracing his hand against Roman’s chest.

Hm. Well.

Roman blinks down at him, then pulls back, dropping his hand from Seth’s hip, eying the ground with a sudden surge of interest. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

Damn it all, he should’ve known it was one-sided.

“No, no,” says Seth quickly, and Roman’s eyes fly back to him, eyes wide with curiosity. God, he hopes he doesn’t look too desperate.

“I mean…” Seth takes a deep breath. “Not yet.”

Well. That wasn’t what Roman was expecting, but it wasn’t outright rejection, so he’ll take it.

“Okay,” he says. “Not now.”

“Not now. I mean, I _am_ going to kiss you,” Seth has the most mischievous of grins on his face, and damn Roman didn’t just want to throw caution to the wind and kiss him right then and there. “Just…not now. I –we both need to focus. Wrestlemania’s next week. We’re both gonna win, right? Kick ass and take names.”

Roman nods.

“So no distractions,” says Seth. “At least until after our matches. Then celebrations are totally in order.”

Roman grins, wide and beaming. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Seth smiles again and brushes his hair back behind his ear. “So you better not lose.”

Then he’s walking down the hallway, off in the direction of the locker rooms. Roman watches him until he disappears around the corner, so speechless that he hadn’t even been able to think up a good comeback.

God, Dean was right.

He was so whipped.

 


End file.
